The Colour of Calm
A prompt response poem

It is the bewitching dance of the walnut leaves Scattering sun beams in the breeze Framed by the hood of my pram.
It is foraging walks with a farm girl mother Down sunken country lanes edged and smothered By ancient hedgerows bursting with berries and birdsong.
It is the grass between my toes beneath my favourite pear, Swiping wasps off fallen fruit that I refuse to share With uninvited stinging raiders.
It is the awakening of a private copse of venerable oaks, As spring bright fingers unfurl and spread to cloak Me in precious quiet amidst the relentless noise of school.
It is the winding ivy, honeysuckle, dog rose, Entwining forgotten names on mossy canting grave stones In the University churchyard where I hide away to read.
It is safety, solace, home, peace. Dropping shoulders, breathing deep. The sweep of a hillside, The shelter of a hedge, The bounty of a harvest, The full stop of a solitary tree. It is the brush that sketches the shapes and shades of this land At the hand of millennia of man.
It is green
And yet…
Over the ocean, beyond the desert, where gaping rivers meet a different sea It is foetid, sweat drenched and filled with fear, Leaves harbour peril with venom and fangs, Verdant verges disguise evil planted by man, Instinct is upended, haven is turned danger, Comforting green is become a stranger.
With thanks to Dennett for the prompt that inspired this poem, and the invitation to join Weeds & Wildflowers.
There could hardly be a better prompt or better named publication for me! Unlike Dennett I have always loved, and needed, green. For me, hailing from the Green and Pleasant Land of England, nature means green. And there is a wealth of scientific evidence that shows that time in nature is critical for our mental and physical health. After years spent in war zones and the intangible world of the media, I have now returned home and been fortunate enough to forge a new career, protecting and enhancing urban green spaces for the benefit of people, place and planet. And along the way I happened to marry someone whose surname — da Silva Muxito — translates as “from the woods — bush”. There’s a message in there!
If you enjoyed this poem, you may also enjoy this piece of prose, on a similar theme:
